Seven Times He Chose Her Dog Over Us

Maisie woke up in the middle of the night.

The first thing she said when she opened her eyes was, "Mommy, don't tell Daddy I'm in the hospital. I don't want him to get mad at me."

Heath Renwick pushed the door open right at that moment.

He heard every word, and by the time he reached her bedside, his voice was tight. "Maisie, I don't need to be with Prince today. I'll stay with you."

Maisie looked at him for a long moment, then shrank back behind me. "Mr. Renwick."

The color drained from Heath's face, leaving him paler than Maisie in the hospital bed.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone rang.

Celeste's voice came through, teary and loud enough to fill the entire room. "Heath, Prince threw up. Can you come look at him? I'm scared."

He looked at his daughter in the bed, then back at his phone. "Wait for me. I'll be right back."

Then he tucked the blanket around Maisie and said, "I'll bring you a strawberry cake later."

Maisie didn't say anything. She'd had a dairy allergy since she was little and always had to pick the frosting off cakes. He never remembered.

His footsteps faded down the hallway, and Maisie stared at the empty doorway. "Mommy, does Mr. Renwick not like me?"

I stroked her hair. "It's not that he doesn't like you. He just found something he likes more."

In the early hours of the morning, Celeste posted on social media. "With you here, I'm not afraid of anything."

The photo was a side shot of Heath feeding Prince his medication, his brow furrowed, focused and gentle. I liked the post.

Heath didn't come to pick us up the day Maisie was discharged. When we got home, I found out he hadn't just skipped the pickup. He'd given the master bedroom to Celeste and Prince. Our things had been packed into two suitcases and left outside the smaller bedroom on the north side of the house.

I stood below and watched as someone took down our wedding photo. It had hung there for eight years. When it came down, it left a pale rectangle on the wall.

Heath happened to walk by and took the frame. I thought he was going to say something, but he just wiped the dust off with his sleeve and handed it to the housekeeper. "Put it away somewhere. Don't let it get damaged."

Then he turned to me. "Seeing the wedding photos upsets Celeste. Just be the bigger person."

He'd been telling me that for eight years, about dresses, about perfume, and now about our bedroom.

I asked him, "Heath, if I keep being the bigger person, what do I have left?"

He thought about it and answered, completely serious. "You still have me."

That night, for the first time in forever, he made me a bowl of pasta with a poached egg on top. It was something he'd learned to make for me back when we first got together.

I'd barely picked up my fork when Celeste came downstairs with Prince. "That smells amazing."

Heath pushed the bowl toward her. "Here, have some. There's more on the stove."

There wasn't more. He'd only made one bowl.

Celeste took a couple of bites, then set the bowl on the floor. "Prince wants some too."

That was my mother's porcelain bowl. I watched Prince bury his snout in it, lapping everything up.

Heath didn't stop him. He even laughed. "Slow down, boy. Nobody's going to take it from you."

I got up and went upstairs.

Maisie was waiting for me in the room and pulled half a bread roll out of her backpack. "Mommy, they gave us snacks at school. I saved this for you."

The bread was a little stale. I ate it with a glass of water.

Later that night, Heath came to the room and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"Don't be mad at me. Once Celeste gets better, I'll send her and Prince home, and things will go back to how they were."

The smell of dog food still clung to him. I gave a faint nod.